


Give Into Me

by Laurasauras



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Clubbing, F/F, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 20:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: ‘I don’t wish to be forward,’ you lie, murmuring in her ear even though the music is less loud at the bar and you probably don’t need to, ‘but I can’t let you disappear into the web of John’s acquaintance and I think I’d say anything if I thought it would result in you fucking me.’
Relationships: Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	Give Into Me

You’ve never really seen the point in staying friends with your exes, but John took your “Let’s just be friends” literally and five years after you broke up with him, you’re glad he didn’t recognise it as the insincere softening it was intended as. Much as being friends with John is occasionally as infuriating as dating him was, you don’t think you’ve ever had a more loyal friend.

Or a friend with as many _other_ friends. Being friends with John is an insurance against having to figure out how people make friends as adults, because John is constantly introducing you to people and taking you to places filled with interesting people. 

Tonight, he’s introducing you to a couple he met through the man falling violently in hate with John, a condition with which you sympathise. Karkat subsequently and reluctantly discovered that John is lifelong friend material, a similarly sympathetic condition. It’s only when you shake hands with Kanaya that you realise that you may have been making some heteronormative assumptions about their couple status, and you’re _definitely_ making some different ones based on what is probably insufficient evidence. 

Her nails are black with white french tips, coffin-shaped, and all dangerously long except for the first two fingers on her right hand, which are round and short. You suddenly wish you were wearing a bi flag or something. 

‘I’ve always liked the name Rose,’ she says, and you just about melt into the nearby gutter. 

‘Is Karkat your brother?’ you ask, your voice breathy and useless. You’ll need to remember how to speak before your time in the queue ends and the bouncer lets you into the club.

‘My _bother,_ perhaps,’ she says, her mouth twitching at her own joke, and you’re gone. 

You cannot be expected not to fall in love with a woman with gothic fashion and awful taste in jokes. Whenever you get cross with John, he tells you joke after unrelenting joke, not even pausing to let you laugh, until in the face of such absurdity you can’t be expected to be mad anymore. It’s frustratingly effective, and even more so from someone who looks like Kanaya.

Her skin is the kind of bronze that doesn’t come from the sun or bottles, her face angular in a way you associate with the semester you spent studying Egyptian history and the beautiful art dedicated to goddesses and pharaohs, and her eyes are improbably jade green. She’s almost a foot taller than you, but you don’t know how much of that is down to the heels she’s wearing. You want to paint her, even though you’re no artist. You want to write a whole book of poetry for her, even though you’re not sure her beauty can be confined to words.

‘We’re not blood related, no,’ Kanaya says, as if you’re not currently daydreaming about whether crocheting a beautiful woman into a poppet is romantic or not. ‘But we clung together in an otherwise white school from first grade. His family moved to Ohio a few years back too, so mine has insisted on making sure he eats far too much every Friday evening. He seems to think he needs to introduce all his friends to me for approval.’

‘How do you find John then?’ you ask.

‘Charming, but in such a manner that I feel vaguely annoyed that I am charmed.’

You smile. That’s John. The line moves and you each hold out ID and get your wrists stamped. Kanaya looks at hers with dismay.

‘It doesn’t ruin your elegance,’ you assure her.

‘You’re kind to lie,’ she sighs. 

John tugs you over to a booth and tells Kanaya to keep you seated while he goes and orders drinks. You decide that your usual passive aggressive war over who pays can be put off until the next round. She sits between you and the rest of the club, and you aren’t staring up at her beautifully angular face for long before Karkat sits down, carrying drinks for both of you. He slides them across the table and John returns too, holding two more drinks, one of which he hands to Karkat.

John says something, but you can’t hear him, even when you lean in enough that you press your chest to the table. You give up, even though as far as you can tell there’s no risk to your dress at the hands of the table, which is still clean due to the earliness of the night. You wave him off from talking again, and he leans towards Karkat instead.

You think you’d probably be attracted to Karkat, were he not totally eclipsed by the radiance that is Kanaya. You look back up at her, attempting to hope that your infatuation isn’t written all over your face, but you know it would be easier if she could read it on you than _telling her._

You ask those essential questions that must be known to begin with a person, what she does for a living, how old her sister is, what her hobbies are. You can’t imagine her in the sunshine with dirt under her perfect fingernails when she tells you she gardens and you yearn with uncomfortable intensity to be allowed to see that. 

She asks questions too, and you become even more exhilarated by her breath near your ear and your lips near her neck with every shared sentence under the heavy thud of club music. 

You tell her about a past girlfriend when she gives you an opening, and she smiles like you weren’t as subtle as you were hoping. But subtlety can fuck right off, because soon after she asks you to dance. 

You start apart, almost dancing separately, but she pulls you by the hand into her personal space so she can tell you she likes your dress. You spin theatrically, showing off the floaty orbit of your skirts, and spin back into her arms as if you’re dancing to something with a much lower tempo. She looks surprised by your closeness, but trails her fingers gently up your bare arms, long nails gentle and tingly and dangerous, so you don’t move away. You keep dancing, so close you brush against her on every move, but not quite holding her yet.

You reach for her waist, move your hands to her back, find the edges of her dress along her shoulder blades and the softness of her skin. She tucks your hair behind your ear and traces along your jawline. You stare into her eyes, heart pounding under your skin, and remind yourself that you’re Rose _fucking_ Lalonde and you have never waited for someone else to make the first move. 

Her hair curls at the nape of her neck. Your fingers curl there too, and pull her down to kiss you. In the second before your lips meet, you think wryly that at least it won’t be noticeable if either of you exchange lipstick between your black lips, but then you’re far too focused on the heat of her mouth against yours. 

She kisses you like she doesn’t care that you’re in public, wet and deep and with a hand on the small of your back keeping you so, so close. As if you could want to leave. Well, perhaps for somewhere less open, where you could shift her hand to your ass and have the courage to touch her properly. Her breasts are pressing against you with the urgency of her embrace and it’s torture not to be able to leave inky kisses along them. 

Someone wolf whistles and you jump in surprise, pulling reluctantly back. You’d stopped dancing as you kissed, and even though you know you’re lucky you made it that long without attracting attention, you want to punch whoever interrupted you in the face. Kanaya strokes her thumb just below your lower lip and fixes your smudged lipstick. Hers is somehow perfect.

‘Drink?’ she asks. You read her lips more than hear her, and nod. She takes your hand and leads you. 

You manage to hand your card over while she’s ordering, and when you catch John on the other side of the bar you ask to pay for his drinks too. Point to Lalonde.

Kanaya eases herself into a barstool and you find yourself an inch or so above her. As much as you’ve wanted her to pick you up and press you against a wall from the moment you laid eyes on her, you’re glad to be able to lean in without relying on her meeting you halfway. Kanaya meets your eyes in the bar mirror, and there’s an intimacy in the illusion of secrecy, like anyone around you would think you’re just looking at nothing.

‘I don’t wish to be forward,’ you lie, murmuring in her ear even though the music is less loud at the bar and you probably don’t need to, ‘but I can’t let you disappear into the web of John’s acquaintance and I think I’d say anything if I thought it would result in you fucking me.’

Kanaya’s lips twitch into a smile. She reaches behind herself, to your neck, and guides your face closer to hers. 

‘The phrase, “I’m not wearing any panties,” would certainly attract some attention,’ she tells you.

‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ you say. 

You kiss her on the jaw before you leave. You look over your shoulder as you make your way to the restroom and catch her looking after you. You turn back to your path before you run into something and ruin the illusion of competency you seem to have successfully spun. 

In a cubicle, you take your panties off and place them in your purse. You stand, breathless, and brace your hands on the door as you stare down at yourself. You don’t think it’s noticeable. You might want it to be. You shift your legs, and feel the silky texture of your dress move against your bare ass. 

If you wait too long in here, you’ll lose your nerve. You’re brave enough for this. You are _incredibly turned on_ by this. You take a deep breath and unlock the door. You check your reflection in the mirror and tell a drunk girl she looks gorgeous before you leave. She tells you she loves you. Standard club restroom etiquette. 

Kanaya is waiting for you at the bar. You take your panties out of your purse and hand them to her. 

‘I believe these are yours,’ you say. 

She smiles slowly and puts them in her own purse. 

‘Let’s take our drinks back to a booth,’ she suggests. 

She takes you to a dim corner of the club, directly under a speaker and therefore avoided by people wanting a conversation. She gestures for you to sit first, on the inner side. Her right side. 

‘We could just go back to my place,’ she says. ‘This isn’t an ultimatum or anything. We’ve been drinking ...’

‘I believe this is the precise reason that skirts were invented,’ you say. ‘And it’s definitely why your nail style was. With regards to the drink, I believe I could still legally drive. Consider this very enthusiastic, if probably reckless consent.’

You pull the back of your skirt up to your hips, the front still giving the illusion that you’re perfectly respectable. You feel vaguely guilty about the fact that you are definitely going to make a mess of the cool leather seat you can feel against your ass, but you figure they chose the upholstery exactly because it is easy to wipe down any spilled drinks. Or in this case, sweat and come. You really shouldn’t do this. But you can’t be told what not to do without wanting to do it, even by yourself. 

Kanaya puts her hand on your leg, above the skirt at first, but then teases at the bunched up fabric until her hand is completely hidden. You shift closer to her and take her other hand in yours, playing with her long nails. You want her to scratch down your back with them, but you’ll ask for that when you let her take you home. Her other hand is tracing teasing cold patterns on your upper thigh. You turn your face to kiss her, to try and egg her on, but you see something that stops you short.

John and Karkat have found you.

The boys bring fresh drinks to the table and John sits next to you, grinning. 

‘You got me before, but I’m still winning,’ he says. Leaning closer, ‘Wow, you and Kanaya are really hitting it off, huh?’

You love John, really. He’s your best and worst friend. Right now, you’re wishing you could stab him to death with the toothpick holding your olives. Instead of doing that, you take a measured sip of your martini. 

‘You should leave us to continue hitting it off,’ you tell him.

He laughs and turns to say something to Karkat. You don’t hear a word he says, less so because of the loud music and more because Kanaya’s fingers have reached the curly hair between your legs. The temperature difference between her drink chilled fingertips and your heat is intoxicating.

You look up at her. She raises an eyebrow in challenge. You raise yours right back. 

‘How far does your composure go, Rose?’ she asks lowly. ‘You had better tell me to stop.’

‘And make me do it myself? You don’t seem as cruel as that.’

You feel Kanaya’s shaky breath more than hear it, pressed up against her as you are. Her fingers dip down further. 

You can’t reangle yourself with John and Karkat here, so you doubt she can enter you, but her long fingers have found the top of your folds and are gently stroking, finding your wetness and spreading it, using it to make her teasing massage around your clit better and more infuriating. She clearly knows exactly where it is, or she wouldn’t be able to so expertly avoid it. 

You kiss Kanaya slowly on her beautiful neck, giving her just a hint of teeth to see if she likes it. You feel her throat vibrate with a rough hum and bite her a bit more forcefully. She finds your clit and _presses._

‘Fuck,’ you gasp.

‘John and Karkat have gone back to dance,’ Kanaya tells you. ‘As we were apparently not very good company.’

You glance backwards at the now empty booth and make a broken moaning sound as she rubs slow, electric circles into you. 

‘I’m definitely taking you home if this is what you think keeping it together looks like,’ she teases. ‘What must you be like when you can really let go?’

‘Thorough,’ you promise. ‘And very talented.’

You lean up so that you can suck on her earlobe, tasting the metal of her small hooped earring. She cups your face in her free hand and holds eye contact with you.

‘I’m going to make you come, aren’t I?’ she asks.

You want to make a flippant statement, but she starts moving two fingers against your clit, alternating pressure in tiny walking movements that mean you have continuous pleasure and your eyes close without your permission. You regain what composure you have and look back into her eyes. Your breath is shaky and you think she’s right. You can feel every inch of your skin, tingling with referred sensation and overwarm from your arousal. 

‘So wet for me,’ she murmurs. 

She pulls your arm towards her and grabs you firmly at the waist, pressing your foreheads together. Her hand between your legs adjusts angles accordingly as she holds you more firmly and you stare into her eyes instead of letting yourself hide away. She’s turned on too, of course she is, and you want so badly to touch her back but you’re pushing the limits of subtlety even in this dark corner. You hold her just under her breast, fingers across her ribs and it’s going to be the intimacy that breaks you, you know it. 

‘I’m going to get you back,’ you tell her. Your thighs are shaking against your will for some composure, your voice is husky and needy, but you can’t care. 

‘Rose,’ she breathes, smiling, ‘you’re very beautiful, but you’re hardly going to convince me you can rise from a submissive role after this.’

You pant with the effort involved in keeping your chin up and defiant. You want to come so badly, you started moving your hips in tiny desperate movements at some point and you don’t know when. You can’t still them and you’re too close to try too hard. 

‘I look forward to correcting your misimpression,’ you manage to say, and then your hips finally freeze as the pleasure reaches its climax. She continues to touch you through it, kissing your neck and holding you up as you squeeze your eyes shut and keep your noises in your throat. 

She strokes you one last time after you flinch away, smiling at your sensitivity. 

‘How were you intending on getting me back?’ she asks. 

‘Take me home and I’ll show you.’

She takes the napkin from under your drink and tidily wipes her fingers off. You wonder if you can convince her to give you her panties back for the cab ride, but it seems you have let your understandably weak-kneed response to Kanaya misrepresent your usual assertiveness. She’ll know better when you get her on her back. 

You think that engaging in your competitive nature might have been the only way she could have improved herself further in your esteem. Well, fuck her. You’re more than capable of rising to this challenge. 

You hold her hand and smile gently up at her before leading the way out of the club, already weighing up whether your tongue is more at your advantage whispering dirty thoughts into her ear or giving her the best oral she’ll ever experience. Both, you decide as she hails a taxi. You’ll top her twice so that the lesson sticks.


End file.
